I Sung You Like A Verse

I sung you like a verse from a forgotten poem , 
Like a stroke of brush from a faded canvas , 
Like a touch of life in a weathered sculpture , 
Mentioned you like a sacred prayer ...

In the eyes that said a thousand words , 
In the smile that hid the secrets unknown , 
In the hands that held a crisp stone , 
In those seconds , 
I sung you like a verse from a forgotten poem .

I know you saw the sunlight on my face , 
I know you saw my closed eyes as I prayed in oblivion , 
I know you saw the tears that flooded my eyes , 
I saw you stealing me ...
I saw your eyes betraying you .
That's when I sung you like a verse from a forgotten poem .

Do you do these things usually ? 
Do you warm up a cold heart , 
Do you write and conjure words for yourself , 
Do you protect what you deem to be yours , 
Do you let others sing you ...like a verse from a forgotten poem ?

Like air , all pervasive , free , pure , 
I saw you heal me , 
I saw you covering me , 
I saw you holding my baggage while I flew amidst the clouds , 
I saw you letting me play while you watched , 
For all this , for all that , for all it felt ...

-Athena (Ambika) 

The Wrinkled True Love

To all the parents growing old and to the grandparents preparing to be born again. Coz well !  I believe in reincarnation.

“Let me take your wrinkled hands ,
To see the sands of time settled in those crevices,

Let me wipe the corner of your eyes ,
that ooze the light that has long shone over the horizon,

Let me tell you the end of every story you have ever told me
    “There is no better teacher than time
      And no better lesson than failure”

And also let me plead with my little hands ,
DON’T LET YOUR LESSONS BECOME MY COMMANDMENTS ”

©Athena

Why I Left The Officer's Training Academy Despite An AIR 2nd In 1st Attempt ?

http://wp.me/s6fAtP-336

Homes Like Ghettos

In the entire seasons that I spent amidst people called home, most of the times there was silence around the house. Not the peaceful, tranquil quiet but an eerie silence. You see the difference... quietness is just slowing down the fast pace of life , being at peace , and silence is dead... it is like crumbling up on a dark room holding back all the edges of your existence and ur clothes... even the curl of ur toes.

Silence of the ghettos where I could hear the clock ticking and my own hissing heartbeats .

And then there were times, terrible times when the floor of the house smelled of land mines , mines stuffed and your one footstep, ur one utterance of a word would blast the mine ... wounding you and the others in a deep cut... oozing tears of blood , again followed by the silence of the cemetery, where lay buried the happiness, the fluttering giggles of children that usually occupy a home . The happy faces.
And in those days I walked , very carefully ... not wanting  to leave my footprints . I walked on my toes fearing that I may not stir the air , the poisonous air that floated through that concentration camp . Fearing that I may not get strangled and choked on my own tears .

-Athena
#childabuse

Reclaim spaces

http://wp.me/p6fAtP-4I

Spirit of kasol

www.tripoto.com/trip/58938

Magical Kasol

.I wrote this poem while sitting at the MoonDance cafe on Kasol in the late evening , listening to the sounds of the flowing Parvati river 

The roaring river … roar like the anguish of  a long lost love,
The pain of unrequited love so vibrant in its roars,
The cry so vibrant ,so shrieking as if calling the rest of its soul, gushing downstream… running, cutting across the so called stony sledges, wrecking them , burning there arrogance down over the years,
That’s the mighty river Parvati behind me…
Ironical it sounds … why they call it Parvati, its forgiveness us like Durga , the dark moonlight night makes it glow like Kali,
In the backdrop of this goddess we sit, huddled across in the chill of the valley, taking in what was so dear to parvati’s consort …
Shiva , another god that is as simple, as innocent as the child in you ,
Touching your deepest , purest corners of heart,
Oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the maddening crowd,
Two birds, to proclaim , no , reclaim their lost freedom ,
Spread their wings, melting the inhibitions, killing the selves, perpetuating oneness, offering their prayers on this magical land, to Shiva himself,
Far from the norms of right and wrong… the bird tells his other half
” far from the norms of right and Wrong,
Far from the clear lines of black and white,
Far from the crowds that know our faces but not our souls,
O my friend lets meet there,
Lets fly there,
Lets soar there,
Lets love there, ”

Ambika/Athena